Hunter's Moon
by The Fausty Sleeveen
Summary: A renegade band of Waterbenders, bent on avenging war crimes, are massacring Fire Nation villages. With Aang off studying, it’s up to Katara to stop them; but tracking them down means coming to grips with her past failures and her own desire for revenge.
1. Chapter 1: New Moon

Hunter's Moon

By Ronka87

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Chapter 1: New Moon

/

There was no moon tonight. It had been decided it would be better that way; one line of defence would be gone, but the valuable element of surprise would make it redundant. In the darkness, no one would see them; they would attack before any defence was necessary. It meant, however, that there was no room for error.

With this in mind they kept their distance, analyzing before advancing. Hidden by the black and bush, they surveyed the enemy. Two guards stood watch outside a small, fortified keep, boredom evident in their eyes and stance. They were not expecting any excitement, and indeed had no reason to: the prison they guarded was minimum security, home to a few war criminals and profiteers. In was deep in the woods, far away from any city and its rowdy drunkards and other riffraff. Although a few of the prisoners were more dangerous than others, proactive precautions had been taken: special bonds had been crafted to detain them, and the guards knew they were inescapable. The prison was poorly staffed but well constructed, built to keep its captives in. It was not so adept, however, at keeping others out.

In the blackness of the moonless night, three figures slid through the woods; having examined the situation, they prepared to attack. They moved quickly, swift and silent as leopard-hounds, careful to stay out of the light emanating from the prison's few lanterns. The three men minded their footfalls, determined not to step on a twig or dead branch; they were born hunters, and though they had not hunted in years, they had not forgotten anything.

The first of these men was sleight and ragged; his clothes, like his skin, hung loosely over his body, and his head was roughly shaved. The second was of average height, with long dark hair and dark, deep-set eyes, and carried a bow and quiver full of barbed arrows.

The third was a bear of a man, with arms thick as trees and shoulders wide enough to carry the world. His skin was bronzed but wane and stuck to his body like a taut drum. Half his head was shaved down to the skull, while the other half was draped in coal black hair. By far, his most notable—and most fearsome—feature was the black scar etched over his right eye; it was a scar he shared with his two companions. Three thick, wavy lines had been branded into their faces: one long, solid line, flanked by two shorter ones. From behind this scorched and blackened symbol of the Water Tribe, ice blue eyes watched sharply for an opening.

"I gotta take a leak," said one of the guards. The large man smiled; with timing like that, he knew the Spirits were guiding the mission. His confidence renewed, he rose slightly from his position, made a gesture to his thin companion, and moved toward the retreating guard.

The guard strode up to a tree, fumbling with his pants and humming a nonsense tune. As he set about relieving himself, the large man crept behind him. "_My mother toooOoold me not to go,_" he sang crudely, "_But I cooOoould not tell them no,/ I went to waaAaar and I got hurt,/ And now I'm deeAad inside the dirt._" He finished up and turned around; the large man smiled wolfishly down. "Hey, what the hell—"

With a wet THUNK, the guard collapsed. A club dangled from the tall man's huge hand, blood dripping off like honey. The guard was not quite dead, and stared, quivering, at the creature above him. The bear man took a moment to savour the horrified confusion in the guard's face before crashing the club down again and again and again. His face was covered in splatter.

It was done, more than done, but he lifted his club over his head once more, panting heavily. His head raced, dizzy from adrenaline; every sense seemed to manifest tenfold. The night air smelled bitter; the crickets and the birds roared in the silence. Blood trickled down his arm, and he allowed it to climb over his skin; the sensation was thrilling. After a moment, perched above the ruined mass of flesh, he lowered his arms. He gazed for a moment, then walked back toward the entrance. His head still pounded, as he heart did, but he shrugged it off; he had a job to do. There would be time for this later.

By the time he arrived at the prison gate, his companions had dealt with the second guard and were fumbling over his corpse for the keys. They found them, and in moments, the entrance to the prison was open. The three men marched confidently inside, leaving bloody tracks behind.

***

It didn't take long to find someone willing to talk. After the thin, bald man had sliced through the red armour (and throat) of his partner, one of the guards collapsed to the floor, pleading to be spared. Tears and mucus streamed down his face as he cowered before the attackers.

"I-I-I d-d-don't know w-what you want, b-b-b-but p-p-please spare me, I have a wife, a ch-child…"

"Shut up!" the long-haired man growled, kicking the guard. He turned to the bald. "I don't like this one's voice; chop him up like you did the last one, Dinahi!"

The thin man swung his sword and moved forward, but the large man shook his head. He smiled down at the guard, his gravely voice attempting friendliness. "Dinahi won't hurt you, don't worry; it's just that Kunuk, well, he needs to relax! He's been eating cavehoppers for too long; the lack of protein is making him… restless."

The long-haired man looked put out, but the tall man kept talking. "Now, there, there, no more tears," he whispered, kneeling closer to the crying guard. "I know how you must fell; things are looking pretty grim. But there is a ray of hope for you, my friend. We need information, and if you provide it—you will be spared. Sounds simple, doesn't it?" He beamed down at the cowering man, who simply stared back. The friendly tone contrasted slightly with his blood-splattered face; the guard couldn't speak.

"What we need," the large man continued, as if he'd gotten a response, "is the whereabouts of one of your prisoners. We could find the cell ourselves, but it's just so much easier for everyone if we do this quickly." He paused again, making sure the guard was following him. "It's a very special prisoner, with very special needs… surely you know the whereabouts of…" He leaned into the guard, his lips grazing the other man's ear, and whispered a single name. The guard looked horrified.

The large man waited expectantly, his two companions flanking him, their weapons drawn. The guard's teeth chattered; his eyes were blurry from tears.

"We k-keep the most d-dangerous ones below g-ground," he gargled. "D-d-d-down the hall, down the stairs and d-down the hall again. Y-you can' miss it," he ended helpfully.

The large man smiled-- a small, happy smile that crinkled his scar, and placed his hand on the guard's shoulder. "Thank you," he said, pulling the man up as if to hug him. The guard shook his head, eyes wide.

"N-n-n-no, please, please don't!—"

"You've been most helpful," he crooned, and casually snapped his neck. Before the body fell to the ground, the men were already marching down the hall.

The prison was dimply lit, with lanterns hung every few meters. The metal walls were interrupted by metal doors, behind which moans and shuffling could be heard. Sometimes eyes would peer out the small rectangular window. The three men ignored this as they trudged downward, deeper and deeper into the holding cell.

At length, they arrived at the end of the lower hall, which was blocked by an enormous metal door covered in cogs and bolts. It was locked. With no delay, the long-haired man took out a canteen and poured it over the handle. As if by magic, ice grew over the lock, and with a single, sturdy kick, the metal bolt shattered to the floor. The door crawled open, and for the first time, the men looked upon their prize.

It was a thin thing, so small it looked barely human. It hung up like a puppet from the chains in the ceiling, its face covered by waxy white hair. For a moment it did not look up; it hadn't seemed to notice the cell had been forced open, or perhaps it didn't care. As light pooled in, though, the body shifted; the chains rattled as the figure readjusted itself. From behind the sheet of hair, a wrinkled face appeared.

The tall man smiled. He stepped in the threshold, his body a shadow against the light from the hall. "I am Mao," he proclaimed, opening his arms wide. He smiled to the woman before him. "Hama of the Water Tribe—Rejoice! Your brothers have come to rescue you."

/

_Continued..._


	2. Chapter 2: Storm Moon

Hunter's Moon

By Ronka87

_Storm moon: (weather folklore) The moon which occurs during the shifting of the winds; also called worm moon, crow moon, moon of the snowblind_

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Chapter 2: Storm Moon

/

Spring, Katara had decided, was her least favourite season.

This decision, though abrupt, had not been made without some consideration. Spring, she reasoned, was a time of uneasy transitions, when everything changed suddenly, inelegantly. The still, frozen beauty of winter was torn away by the annual thaw, leaving behind a partially decayed wasteland. The melted snow exposed broken braches and other things that hadn't survived the winter, and black leaves that didn't have a chance to degrade before the first frost covered the ground like a rotting carpet.

Spring was a rainy season, which should have made her happy, but Katara had too much compassion for the villages that got washed out in flash floods and mudslides to care about a little more water. Besides, every drop was more evidence that the warm summer weather she'd never really accustomed to was arriving, and fast.

Of course, there were good things about spring, too. Many good things, in fact, but at the moment, Katara wasn't concerned with those: her head was too full reasons why spring was the most horrible time of the year. It wasn't rational, but Katara wasn't thinking rationally at the moment. There was one more reason, one tiny, insignificant reason, why spring had become the target of such dark thoughts: spring was the season Aang had decided to leave.

Because of the uncommon haste he'd been in to master the four elements, Aang's bending training had been somewhat incomplete. While his Air- and Water-bending were among the best, his skills with the two other elements weren't nearly so strong, and he hadn't had much time to hone them, what with helping to restore world peace. He'd spent most of the year after Ozai's defeat arranging peace treaties in the capitals of the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom, which not only ate up his time, but also left him out-of-touch to the plights of the common man. His connection to the people was waning, he felt, and to restore it, he needed to get back to his nomadic roots, to meet new faces and experience new things. A few months sating his _wanderlust_ would help him understand the changing needs of the people, as well as truly master all four elements.

He'd told Katara about it one night, just before winter's end. They were in Ba Sing Se for another meeting with Earth Kingdom politicians, in the same house the Earth King had lent them on their first visit. Aang sat her down, took a place on the floor, and laid out his plans. He'd made the necessary arrangements, discussed it with officials from the three nations, and explained everything in detail to Katara. It was a win-win situation all around, and Katara had been onboard for it—until the revelation that he meant to go alone.

The last had come as a shock. She tried not to be angry, disappointed, hurt by the announcement, but her emotions got the better of her.

"It's idiotic!" she yelled, the evening that he'd told her. "How can you train with no one to train _with_? It's like training against a stone wall!"

"Actually, Toph makes me do that."

"For _**drills**_!" Katara hissed in frustration and rubbed her temples; speaking of dealing with brick walls… She took a breath and began again: "With no one to spar with you're never going to learn anything. You'll just be doing the same thing over and over and--"

"And isn't that what I do here anyway?" Aang rose from where he'd been sitting and wandered aimlessly about the room. "I can meet new people to train with, that's a non-issue. I already know the moves, Katara, I just need time to work on them-- and I can't do that here. There's always interruptions, some advisor who needs my opinion, which would be fine if it were ever something important, but lately it's just been questions about salt taxes and farmers with land disputes and the price of tea in Ba Sing Se. I just… need to get away, clear my head, get a fresh perspective on things."

"Alright, fine," she grudgingly relented. "I understand that—but what about going alone? You could get hurt."

"No I—"

"You **always** get hurt! It doesn't matter that we're at peace, there are still plenty of ways to injure yourself. Who'll take care of you when that happens? I don't want to lose you again."

Aang sighed. For minutes, neither of them spoke, until finally Aang walked over to her. She wasn't feeling especially cuddly, but when he drew his arms around her and rested his head atop hers, she couldn't help but lean in a little.

"I… I don't want to leave," he admitted after a moment. "I'm not doing this because I want to. I'm doing it because I need to. I got caught with my pants down last time; it was just an amazing fluke that I survived the fight with Ozai at all, let alone won. I can't risk relying on luck again. What I'm going on isn't just a training exercise—it's a mission of self-improvement." He paused, considering his words; Katara listened to his steady heartbeat. "I abandoned the world years ago, and then when I came back, I wasn't prepared to do my duty. I let millions of people down.

"We're at peace now, and for the moment it's solid. This is maybe my only chance to get the experiences I need to be a better Avatar. I owe it to the world to become better, to become the _best_, so I don't let anyone down again. I need to learn to stand on my own, because, when the world's in trouble, it's always going to be my duty to face it, alone. It's just… it's something I need to do by myself."

Katara considered his words. After a moment, she added, "And you think I'd drag you down."

He actually _laughed_; Katara frowned. "Nooooo," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. He drew back and grinned into her eyes. "I think you'll start doing my job _for_ me. You're always ready to fight the bad guys, protect the weak, solve people's problems… By the time you've finished, I've got nothing left to do. An Avatar's got to learn to save the world on his own. Besides," and his tone become more serious, "relations between the countries are still pretty tight. The big cities still need someone to watch out for them and keep them protected, and there's no one I trust more to do it than you."

And that, really, was that. She couldn't sway him; his decision was as firm as an Earthbender's stance. In the coming weeks, Aang prepared for his journey, sending messages out that he'd been wandering the earth for the next few months. He was a seasoned traveller, from both before and during the war, and got together what little gear he planned to take with little effort and great expediency. In what seemed like no time at all, he and Katara were standing on the outskirts of Ba Sing Se, saying goodbye.

The weather was close; the air was heavy with humidity and hot. Dark clouds were rolling in, but Aang was determined to leave; if he didn't go now, he said, he never would. Katara half-wished it.

"I'll start out by heading north," he said as he checked Appa's straps. Katara stood to the side, watching him work. "I might stop by the Eastern Air Temple, talk to the Guru if he's still around, then I plan on visiting the northern peninsula; from there, who knows." He finished his inspection and turned to Katara; when he approached, she drew him into a hug.

She wasn't crying, but she felt terrible. There was stone in her stomach that was slowly easing its way into her throat. To counter it, she held Aang tighter. "I'll really miss you," she said.

"I know you will," he said, resting his cheek on her head, "'cause I'm gonna miss you just as much."

She smiled against his shoulder, then drew back a bit. In her strictest, most serious voice, she said: "Be careful."

"I will," he promised. "I don't plan on doing anything _really _dangerous."

"No wolf-shark baiting?"

"No."

"No wolverinephant riding?"

"No."

"No giant bloodthirsty armadillo bear wrestling?"

"Yes. Wait, I mean no." She gave him her best _That's not really funny you know _look and he smiled back at her. "Really, I'll be—"

"Don't get into fights with more people than you can handle. And always make sure there's a healer around when you're sparring with someone new. And don't be afraid to ask people for help, but don't trust them _too_ much, 'cause you never know what strangers are like and what their agendas are and—"

"Katara," he laughed, "_I'll be fine!_ You don't have to worry."

"I can't help but worry," she snapped. "I love you."

Aang stared down at her, still smiling, his face perfectly still. "I love you, too," he said softly, and leaned forward; she met him halfway.

With enormous effort, they parted, and Aang hopped on his bison. Appa seemed to wait for Katara to join him, but when she did not, let out a low rumble; she rubbed his nose in consolation. The two teenagers exchanged a few more tender words, promises to take care and not worry, and finally, goodbyes. With an unenthusiastic _Yip yip_, Appa was off, floating through the sky as he'd done so many times before. She watched them leave.

It wasn't so bad, she supposed. It wasn't like he was going off to get stuck in an iceberg again; he'd still be around if anything truly terrible happened. Zuko and the Earth King were both keen to uphold the peace treaties, so there wouldn't be any trouble on that front. There might be some skirmishes with highwaymen and pirates, but those weren't large problems, really. Actually, she thought, the worst of it was going to be missing him. They hadn't spent more than a few days away from each other for over two years, so being apart for a few _months_ was going to be difficult. Still, she'd preserver; she always had in the past. Change happened, like the shifting of the seasons, and all you could do was cope.

As her mind drifted, the figures in the sky drew rapidly away. Appa, so huge up close, was still retreating to the east, shrinking until he was the size of a spider-fly; Aang's orange shirt was barely discernable. At length, when Appa was the size of a gnat and Aang was imperceptible, she turned to walk back to the house.

She heard the crackle of thunder in the distance, and hoped the storm wasn't in the direction Aang was headed. A few drops of rain dripped onto her head, and then, suddenly, it came down in sheets. Sighing, she made a bubble over her head. She ignored the stares from passers-by and marched through the puddles forming in the street.

Of course, this wasn't exactly what she wanted, but it was what needed to be done. If Aang had to do this by himself, she had to let him. She consoled herself by repeating, over and over, that he'd be back. It was only a few months. He would be fine.

The muddy water soaked through her shoes, staining them. Perfect; another reason to hate the spring. Still, it would be over eventually. It was only a few months.

What's the worst that could happen in a couple of months?

/

_Continued…_


	3. Chapter 3: Sea of Cold

Hunter's Moon

By Ronka87

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Chapter 3: Sea of Cold

/

Tax season. The old soldier spat on the ground. If there was one time of the year he loathed, it was tax season. Ever since his relocation to this forsaken rock in the northern Fire Nation, it had been his job to collect taxes from the rural villages. This far north, the spring thaw hadn't quite dissipated the winter chill, and the harsh wind ripped through his cloak as he and his horstrich struggled over the rocky terrain. _Don't know why they even send us up here,_ he thought, grumbling. _Those peasants never have anything more than a few coins to offer up anyway. Shoulda just stayed back at the outpost-- 'least it was warm._

The journey to the outport communities was treacherous and slow, since the Fire Lord had never built roads on the island. The colony had only existed for a few decades, captured by Azulon and meant to serve as a tactical advantage in an attack on the North Pole. With that ambition long dead, it was now populated entirely by settlers trying their hand at the fishery. Well, settlers, and people to collect their taxes.

The old soldier kicked his steed, hurrying it along the narrow path. They would soon start their descent into to the village; he knew the trail and knew, in a few minutes, it would lead into the tiny outport of Huan Cove, population sixty. He snorted. Sixty. How could such places even exist? Why did his kingdom even bother with them? They should just be left to rot. Why couldn't he be home, enjoying the warmth of his fireplace and the smell of his soup and—

His mount slipped suddenly on a patch of black ice. Its balance lost, it fell to the ground, dragging him down with it. The horstrich landed heavily on its side, but fortune smiled upon the man, and he was thrown off, rather than under, the beast.

"What the blazes!" he cried, lifting himself off the snowy trail. He glared in the general direction of the town. "Those village riffraff! They should have salted this path already! They knew I was coming." He stared down at the horstrich. Its leg was injured, possibly broken, but it was struggling to get back on its feet. It didn't work, and the animal fell to the ground once more, its breathing ragged. He turned away. "Lousy ingrates," he grunted, "when I get down there they're gonna pay EXTRA for a new horse." He marched down the trail, leaving the heavy-breathing animal on its own.

It took longer than if he'd been riding, but he made his way down the winding road. At the foot of the hill, he was greeted by a little wooden sign that announced the village's name, its population, bid the reader welcome; the soldier ignored it.

"Fools… damned inbred… that was a good animal, too… when I get down there they'd better have new one, is all I can say…" He grumbled as he passed the little cabins where the villagers stored their wood. If he'd been a Firebender, he would have burnt them down to teach those peasants a lesson, but as it was, he just glared as he walked by. "Would serve 'em right, too… So cold down here, they could _use _a little heat… Freezin', in fact…"

The villagers' huts drew closer and closer, but there was little rise in activity as he approached the cove. _Strange_, he thought. _No children in the fields or women salting fish on the wharfs_. The sun was starting to set, yet the windows in the houses were black. The place looked desolate. _Shouldn't they have lit the lamps by now? _The soldier shivered and pulled his cloak tight, but there was a chill growing inside him that had nothing to do with the wind.

The boats were missing from the docks. The ropes the fishermen used to tie them down had been coarsely cut and the ends were frayed; the straggly strands were dusted with snow, frozen into a shape like a raptor's talon. The ropes had been left to dangle off the piers and were petrified with ice—they didn't even sway in the wind. The old solider stared at the odd scene. Why were the boats gone? Had the whole village fled to avoid paying taxes?

Despite the knot growing in his throat, he walked up to one of the little wooden shacks the villagers called houses. There were no lights on, and he could hear no sounds from inside, but he knocked anyway. He stood a moment and knocked again.

When no answer was forthcoming, he gingerly opened the door. The strange blue light of the setting sun crept into the shack, illuminating the figures inside. He stared at the scene for a moment before his mind caught up with his senses and he flew backwards with a shriek.

A small family—two adults, two children—sat around a table. Their smiling mouths were slightly parted and their black, glass-like eyes focused down to the plates in front of them. Their skin was tinged with blue and looked smooth and hard, like marble. Their hair, like the ropes outside, was dusted with ice, as were their clothes and arms. Ice grew around their chairs. None were moving.

The soldiers stared at the spectacle before him, then ran to another house. "Help!" he cried, throwing open the door, but the same sight greeted him. He ran to another.

Each house was the same— the people inside were blue and frozen, like statues or horrendous, life-sized dolls. Only the faces changed: some were peaceful, some blank, some shocked, while others were contorted in agony. None were alive.

Horrified, the soldier tore back to the trail. He passed the shacks, passed the field, passed the storage huts, passed the little wooden sign. Blindly he raced back up the hill. His lungs were sore from the cold air, but he ignored the pain; he had to get away.

It was very dark now, and the rocks were slippery and sharp. He stumbled often, but was glad of the practice he'd had climbing this hill so many times in the past. He knew his positioning—that last boulder at the top of the hill was where he'd been thrown from his steed. Maybe, he thought, just maybe the horse would be better now, and he could ride away from this nightmare. At last he reached the top, tearing round the boulder. His breathing ragged, he looked around for his mount.

The horse wasn't there.

A thing like a cold pit formed in the soldier's stomach, and it spread rapidly through his body. In the growing moonlight, he could see marks where the creature had been dragged into the bushes. He heard cracks of twigs and rattling of bushes. His body shook; he couldn't help it. He sunk down to the ground, his eyes probing the darkness.

"Oh please oh please, I don't want to die," he choked, his voice cracking. The wind was loud and the air was frigid, but he stayed where he was, chanting his mantra.

"Oh please, I don't want to die, please oh please oh…"

He stayed there all night, with the wind and the fear, until finally he was overtaken by cold and darkness.

***

The warmth and light of the dawn sun streamed into the room, filling every nook with its soft, orange glow. Katara basked in it: she'd developed a particular fondness for the colour orange over the years, as it reminded her of energy, power, and fun. She tried hard not to think about the _reason _why she associated orange with those things, because the _reason_ was off gallivanting around the world and had left her stuck in Ba Sing Se. Not that she was sore about it; she understood the reasons behind the reason leaving, and they were reasonably reasonable. Nope, she wasn't at all upset that she'd been abandoned, left in a city with nothing to do and none of her friends around. Not sore in the least.

She lifted a cup of tea to her lips and realized for the fifth time that it was empty. She set it down, grumbling. Not that she was _distracted_ or anything—

"More tea?"

Startled from her reverie, Katara looked up to the smiling face. "Thank you, Iroh," she said, smiling back. He took the cup, which he filled with the ease of a practiced pourer, then drew up a chair beside her. Magically producing a cup for himself (Katara had long believed he stored extras up his sleeve, and he did nothing to disprove it), he poured some for himself.

"So," he began, his eyes still glued to the teapot, "how are you this morning?"

"Oh, I'm fine, you know," she said breezily.

With deliberate poise, Iroh's brow rose. "Are you _sure _everything's fine?"

Katara nodded, pretending to consider. "Yeah, of course. Why do you ask?"

"Well," he said, leaning back and rubbing his beard, "it's just that I so rarely have guests show up to my tea shop at the crack of dawn, and this is the third time you've done it this week. I thought maybe something might be wrong."

"Nope," she said quickly, and took a swig of tea. Iroh looked less than convinced, but Katara studiously avoided his eye contact, instead staring into her teacup. The shredded leaves swirled on the bottom, reminding her of the fortune-teller she's gone to see so many years ago and the predictions that had been made. Katara sighed heavily.

"It's Aang," she relented, as Iroh failed to conceal a grin. "I'm worried about him, and I miss him, and I'm really bored without him. I thought I was strong enough to handle him being gone for a few months, but it's only been two weeks and I have no idea what to do so I guess I'm not." She sighed again, then looked apologetically at Iroh. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you, but I woke up and then I couldn't think of anywhere else to go."

"It's fine," said Iroh, waving it off. "Old people never sleep, anyway, and I'd much rather have friends over than putter around the kitchen." He took a sip of his tea. "It gets lonely around here sometimes."

"Tell me about it," she grunted. "I don't know how you've dealt with it for the past two years." Two years since they defeated Ozai; it somehow felt longer. Probably because time in Ba Sing Se seemed to drag. "Especially when there's no one you know to talk to."

"For me, that's actually a huge appeal." He winked. "Ba Sing Se is not without its charms. There's music and theatre and the occasional threat from my former enemies, not to mention the excellent conversation! All that an old man could really ask for." He grinned then gazed out the great window in front of them, his eyes losing focus. "The only thing I really miss is my nephew. I sometimes forget he's not here, and I go to his room to wake him in the morning. And then, before any customers arrive, I sit out here and wait for letters from him."

"Does Zuko write often?" Katara asked, intrigued.

"Never!" Iroh laughed. "But I live in hope. He actually used to write frequently when he first assumed the throne, but that stopped once he became more confident in his abilities. He never writes for advice now, which is a good thing, I suppose… Still, every once in a while I look out the window and think, is that a messenger hawk with a letter for me?" He smiled slightly, again glancing out the window. He quickly glanced back, his eyes wide. "Wait a minute, _is_ that a messenger hawk…?"

Katara followed his gaze. Sure enough, there was a tiny black blob flying in the sky. Katara's heart rose for a second before she realized, yes, it was actually a bird, and yes, it was clothed in the red vest of a Fire Nation messenger hawk. It flew into the tea shop and made an elegant loop about the room before landing on the table where they were sitting.

"Talk about contrived coincidences…" Iroh mumbled, retrieving the letter from the bird. Katara scratched under its beak while Iroh read.

"Is it from Zuko?" Katara teased, but she frowned when she saw the grave look etched into Iroh's face. "What's wrong? Is everything alright?"

"No," he replied, but didn't elaborate further. His brow was knit tight as he read the letter, and once he glanced up at Katara before quickly glancing back down. She stared in confusion.

He rose from the table, the scroll clenched firmly in his hand. "I have to go to the capital," he said. "I'm sorry to disrupt your morning tea, but I must leave immediately."

"Why? What's wrong?" Katara had risen too and approached the older man. "Is Zuko okay?"

"Yes, he's fine, but—" He seemed to be struggling with himself. He shook his head and walked off toward his personal antechamber. "I'm afraid I can't explain. It's… state business."

"State business?" Katara frowned, following after him. "Has the capital been attacked?"

"No, nothing so drastic—"

"Then why won't you tell me what's wrong?" She rounded on him, blocking his way to his room. "You know you don't have anything to hide from me, and Aang told me to keep watch on the cities while he was away. Now please: what's going on?"

Iroh looked extremely reluctant but, with a deep sigh, handed the paper over to her. He walked past her to enter his bedroom, leaving her alone to read the letter. She unrolled the scroll and scanned the writing. Her eyes widened as she read.

_Dear Uncle_, it began,

I'm afraid the problem I discussed before has only gotten worse. Another village was attacked last week, only this time, there were no survivors. A whole village. A scout discovered it when a tax collector didn't complete his rounds. When I sent others out to investigate, they found the symbol for "water" scratched into one of the huts. I'm afraid there's no denying it now: the attacks are being staged by Waterbenders.

Katara gasped. Iroh appeared in the doorway; he had changed into travelling clothes and had a small pack at his feet, and he laid it on the floor as he approached.

_All the victims had been frozen to death; they had only partially thawed when the scout found them. There was nothing stolen, so we now know these are clearly just attacks against the Fire Nation. Something must be done to protect my people, but I'm not sure how to handle this without offending the Water Tribe. The situation is too severe now to ignore. Please come home; I need your advice._

_Zuko_

Done reading, Katara simply stared at the scroll. Her mind raced. "You lied about not getting any letters," she whispered.

"I didn't want to worry you," he said. "We thought it might just be bandits, looting and pillaging for kicks, and we weren't sure it was Waterbenders."

"But you suspected."

Iroh was silent.

"Why didn't you tell Aang? He wouldn't have left if he knew about this!"

"Again," said Iroh, "we didn't anticipate that the attacks would get this serious—there was never any reason to think we'd need the Avatar's help." Iroh put his hand on her shoulder and eased the letter from her grasp. "I'm sorry you had find out this way. I've got to get to my nephew, now—we'll do everything we can to make sure these criminals are caught and don't jeopardize our treaties with—"

"I'm going with you."

Iroh blinked. "I… am not sure that is such a good idea."

"Aang trusted me to protect the people he couldn't while he was away—that's _all_ people, not just the ones in Ba Sing Se. Besides, as a Waterbender I'm a useful ally against a bunch of Waterbending thugs. It would be a bad idea _not_ to take me. I'm going with you."

Iroh watched her carefully. When he realized she would not be swayed, he nodded his consent. "But be sure to tell Zuko this was your idea, not mine." Katara grinned. "Now you'd better get your things; we can catch the first train to the outer ring, and I'll hire a carriage to take us to the port."

"I have a better idea." Katara ran behind the counter and grabbed a pen and some loose parchment. Dipping the pen in water, she scrawled out a message, then whistled for the messenger hawk. It was pecking at some cake, but flew over when called. She slipped the paper into the tube on the hawk's vest and said: "Take this to the Earth King."

The bird cocked its head and took off, heading toward the inner palace. Katara turned back to Iroh. "I'll get my stuff and meet you down at the royal stables. I asked for the use of two of the Earth King's eelhounds—he won't say no. It'll be faster than any boat or carriage."

Iroh nodded and together they walked out the door. "It's the first time I've had to close the shop since the end of the war," he commented as he locked up. "I hope things play out better than the last time I left Ba Sing Se."

"So do I," said Katara, before running off the collect her gear. Iroh watched her go, then stared down at the letter. He crumpled it in his fist.

"And I hope those Waterbenders really _are _just thugs," he whispered, "and not who I suspect they are." He looked back once more at the retreating girl before hefting his bag and heading down to the stables.

//

Continued…


End file.
